


Judging a book by its cover

by waferkya



Category: Basketball RPF
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waferkya/pseuds/waferkya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ricky and Rudy met for the first time in 2005, in DKV Joventut, when Rudy was 20 and Ricky barely 14 but already a rising (asshole) star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Judging a book by its cover

He's really small, like, sickly tiny or something, and you have no clue how anyone would ever even think about signing such a scrawny little thing. Okay, you've seen the way he plays and there's nothing ridiculous about that, but right now?  
  
Right now he's sitting on a desk and his feet don't fucking touch ground, man; he's swinging his bony legs in the air like he's fifteen years old and no, wait, he's actually _four_ teen, is he not?  
  
Jesus; his _mother_ is here. What the fuck is coach Aíto thinking?  
  
"This is bullshit," you say, barely over your breath; you repeat it, then, louder and clearer. "This is bullshit."  
  
The kid looks over to you; that was probably the first bad word he's ever heard, and you grin at him, wide and toothy and sarcastic. He blinks – he has these long and curvy and dark eyelashes, and the only way for him to look any more like a girl would be if he _actually_ was a girl, – and then he blinks again before turning to stare to where his mum's talking to the coach only a few feet away.  
  
Wait.  
  
What?  
  
Did he...? Did that little thing with more hair on his head than meat on his bones just, like, _ignore_ you? You are Rudy Fernandez, for fuck's sake! You have Pau Gasol's cellphone number, and Juan Carlos Navarro calls you by _name_! There's no way this toddler can be allowed to even think about disrespecting you like that.  
  
You grab a ball and march towards him, then, breathing fire and pride and sheer rage, ready to teach him a lesson.  
  
"Hey," you call out, and the kid takes his time to turn his head towards you which is not proper behavior at all; he's getting all cocky because his mum can't see him and scold him, obviously. He's such a child.  
  
"Hi," he says, looking overall very much unimpressed. You're boiling already, and his stupid chocolate-brown eyes and his idiotic Beatles haircut are really unnerving. He's a kid, you have to remind yourself; you could probably count his ribs if he took his shirt off, look how thin he is, he won't last ten minutes in the league.  
  
He keeps swinging his legs, too, and his shoes look like enormous, colorful monsters chewing on his scrawny ankles.  
  
"Are you getting off there and come to play, one of these day?" you ask, and you spin the ball on your fingertip because you'd bet your weight in gold that he can't do that. And you know perfectly well he's not allowed to train with you guys until the contract is signed and he's been checked and approved by the doctors and all that shit, but you really can't help yourself.  
  
You hate him already and he needs to learn some manners. He gives you a quick smirk, jumps off the table and steals the ball from you before running away.  
  
Ricky Rubio is clearly a douchebag, and if he wasn't a fourteen-years-old-fucking-douchebag, God, you'd think you're falling for him already.


End file.
